CHAPTER XXIII.
ABO – FINLAND
I was strongly inclined to spend several weeks in Helsingfors. The bathing is delightful, and the manners and customs of the people are primitive and interesting. My adventure on the sea-shore, as I soon discovered, was nothing uncommon. I mentioned the matter to my landlady – a Finnish woman of very sociable manners, who spoke a little English. I asked her if it was customary for the ladies to dispense with bathing-dresses. She said they generally wore something when they bathed in public, but beyond the limits of the regular bath-houses, at the end of the Botanical Gardens, they seldom troubled themselves about matters of that kind; in fact, they preferred going in without any obstruction, because “they could swim so much better.”
Having procured my passport at the Bureau of the Police, I took passage in a Swedish steamer bound for Abo and Stockholm. Next morning by daylight the steamer arrived from St. Petersburg. I went on board, and in a few hours more the fortifications of Sweaborg were dim in the distance.
The accommodations on board the Swedish steamers are excellent. I took passage in the second cabin, for the sake of economy, and found every thing as clean and comfortable as I could desire. The waiters are polite and attentive, the fare is good, and the company quiet and respectable. The difference in this respect is very striking between first and second class passengers on board of American and Swedish steamers. In the latter there is no rowdyism – no incivility from officers or servants; and, so far as the passengers are concerned, I could not perceive that they were debarred from any of the privileges enjoyed by passengers of the first class. They had the entire range of the vessel, and were treated with the same respect and consideration shown to others who possessed the means of indulgence in a little more style. I have been particularly pleased with this trait in the management of public conveyances throughout Europe. In Sweden and Norway it is especially characteristic. The commonest deck-passenger on board a Swedish or Norwegian steamer is treated with courtesy. Indeed, I have seen instances of care and tenderness toward the poorer classes, whose circumstances compelled them to travel in this way, that I regret to say would excite astonishment in our own democratic country. I can scarcely understand why it is that the captain and officers of a steam-ship on our side of the water consider it their duty to harass passengers who do not pay the highest price with all sorts of vexatious restrictions, and to render their condition as uncomfortable as possible. To be overbearing, insolent, and ungentlemanly seems to be the only aim of these important functionaries, and, so far as my experience goes, they succeed so well in this respect that if they do not actually prove themselves brutes and blackguards during the passage, they are usually rewarded for their forbearance, on reaching the port of destination, by a card of thanks. I have seen no such insolence on the part of officers and slavishness on that of passengers on board of any Swedish or Norwegian steamer, as I have often seen on the Panama and California coast steamers. Yet cards of thanks are not common in Europe. In fact, they would be regarded as a reflection upon the officers rather than an evidence of complimentary appreciation.
The coast of Finland from Helsingfors to Abo abounds in small rocky islands, covered, for the most part, with a stunted growth of pine. The outline of the main land is extremely rugged and irregular, presenting a succession of promontories, bays, and inlets, weather-beaten cliffs of granite, and gloomy pine forests. No sign of habitation is to be seen during the entire voyage, with the exception of an occasional group of fishermen’s huts or a custom-house station. The whole country has the appearance of an unbroken wilderness. The steamer plows her way, hour after hour, through the narrow and winding passages that lie between the islands – sometimes so close to the overhanging cliffs and rugged boulders of granite as almost to touch – and often apparently land-locked amid the maze of islands and promontories. While there is nothing grand or imposing in the scenery, the coast of Finland is certainly one of the most interesting portions of the world, in a geological point of view. The singular formation of the rocks, their rich and varied colors, and the strange manner in which Nature has grouped them together, afford an endless variety of interesting studies. The utter isolation of the inhabitants from the busy world, their rude and primitive mode of life, their simplicity, hardihood, and daring; the rigors of climate to which they are subject, and their strong attachment to their sea-girt homes and perilous pursuits, render the trip interesting to the general tourist, who, though not skilled in geology, may be supposed to possess, like myself, a fancy for gathering up odds and ends touching the condition of his fellow-beings.
The people of this coast region are a hardy race, whose wild habits of life and isolation from the great outer world develop in them many striking and peculiar traits of character. During the long winters, when the bays, inlets, and harbors are blocked with ice, they become wood-choppers or lumbermen, and spend their time chiefly in the forests. Upon the breaking up of winter they prepare their nets and fishing-gear, and, as soon as the season permits, set forth in their little smacks, and devote the principal part of the summer to catching and curing fish, for which they find a ready sale at the stations along the shore, frequented by traders from St. Petersburg. They live in small cabins, built of pine logs, rarely consisting of more than two rooms. Each family owns a small patch of ground, with an unlimited range of forest. A few cows or goats, a vegetable garden, and some chickens or ducks, constitute all they require for domestic use, and these are usually attended by the women and children during the absence of the men on their fishing expeditions. Education is at a low ebb among them, though the rudimental branches are not altogether neglected. They are a simple, hospitable, and kind-hearted people, ignorant and superstitious, yet by no means deficient in natural capacity. No better sailors than the Finns are to be found in any part of the world, and there is scarcely a sea throughout the arctic regions which has not been visited by their vessels. Although the climate is rigorous during a considerable portion of the year, the Finns prefer it to any other in the world, and conscientiously believe the garden of Paradise must have been originally located in Finland. The lower classes are contented and happy, caring little for affairs of government, unless they happen to be subjected to some peculiar or oppressive restraints. As the traveler approaches the Gulf of Bothnia, they assimilate very closely to the same classes in Sweden, and but little difference is perceptible either in their language or costume. The educated classes, such as the professional men, merchants, bankers, traders, etc., are as polished as most people throughout the North of Europe, and many of them are distinguished for their cultivated manners and general intelligence. Such of these as I conversed with on board the steamer impressed me very favorably. I found them liberal in their sentiments, and devoted admirers of our American institutions. Yet, strange to say, the only secessionist I met in the course of my wanderings in this region was a Finn. Hearing me speak English, he immediately opened a conversation on the subject of the revolutionary movement in the United States. He did not know what we were fighting for; thought the North was acting very badly; regarded the people of the South as an oppressed and persecuted race; believed in slavery; considered the Lincoln government a perfect despotism, etc. In short, his views were a general epitome of the speeches, proclamations, and messages of the leading rebels throughout the South. I listened to him with great patience. He had an interesting family on board, all of whom spoke English; and what struck me as peculiar, a species of negro English common in the Southern States. “Sir,” said I, at length, “you surprise me! I had not expected to meet so strong an advocate of slavery and slave institutions in this latitude. Can it be possible that you are a Finn?” “Yes, sir,” he answered, “a genuine Finn – now on a visit to my native country after an absence of twenty-five years.” “Then you must have lived in the South?” “Yes, sir; in Montgomery, Alabama. I have property there. It was getting pretty bad there for a family, and I thought I had better pay a visit to Finland while the war was going on.” This accounted for the peculiar sentiments of my fellow-traveler! He seemed to be a very nice old gentleman, and I was sorry to find him tinctured with the heresies of rebellion. Farther conversation with him satisfied me that if he could get his property out of Montgomery, and put it in Massachusetts, he would be a very respectable Union man. I don’t think his heart was in the movement, though his pocket, doubtless, felt a considerable interest in it.
The town of Abo, formerly the capital of Finland – now a place of no great importance except as a custom-house and military station – is beautifully situated on the banks of a river called the Aurajoki, about three miles above its mouth. Vessels of medium draught, including the coasting steamers, have no difficulty in ascending as far as the bridge, where they lie alongside the wharves and receive or discharge freight. Those of larger draught usually anchor off the village of Boxholm, a picturesque gathering of red cottages, with high peaked roofs, situated at the entrance of the river. Above the village, on the summit of a rocky cliff, stands the fort of Abohus, ready at a moment’s notice to pour a broadside into any enemy of Imperial Russia that may undertake to pass up the river.
Abo, since the removal of the capital and University to Helsingfors and the great conflagration of 1827, which destroyed two thirds of the town, has fallen into decay, and now does not contain a population of more than ten or twelve thousand souls. Spread over an area of several miles square, with a sufficient number of houses to accommodate twice or three times the population, its broad, stone-paved thoroughfares and numerous untenanted buildings have a peculiarly desolate appearance. Back a little from the river the pedestrian may walk half a mile at midday without meeting a single soul in the streets. A dead silence reigns over these deserted quarters, as if the prevailing lethargy had fallen upon the few inhabitants that remain. Grass grows on the sidewalks, and the basement walls of the houses are covered with moss. A dank, chilly mildew seems to hang in the air. One might become green all over, like a neglected tomb-stone, should he forget himself and stand too long in one spot. I spent a considerable portion of the day rambling through these melancholy by-ways, and must admit that the effect upon my spirits was not cheering. Now and then the apparition of some cadaverous old woman, wrinkled with age – a greenish hue upon her features – would appear unexpectedly at some unexpected opening in one of the ruinous old houses, and startle me by a gaze of wonder or some unintelligible speech addressed to herself. Probably a human being had not been seen in that vicinity for the last month. Sometimes a slatternly servant-girl would appear in the distance, her dress bedraggled with slops, a tub of water on the pavement close by, and a long-handled mop in her hand, with which she seemed to be vigorously engaged in scrubbing the green slime and tufts of moss off the window-sills; but catching a sight of the strangers, down would go the mop, and then the usual hasty attempt would be made at fixing her hair and otherwise increasing her personal charms. As I drew near, this useful member of society would naturally take a sidelong glance at the strange gentleman, and perceiving that he was uncommonly attractive in personal appearance, it was quite natural she should make a neat little courtesy and say “Got Aften!” to which, of course, I always responded in the most affable manner, not forgetting to say to myself, in an audible tone, “Sken Jumfru!” – a pretty girl. No harm in that, is there?
In the afternoon I walked out to a public garden about two miles from town, where there are some very pleasant promenades, a large building containing a ballroom, and numerous pavilions for refreshments. It was a festive occasion, and the élite and fashion of Abo were assembled there in their best attire. The music was inspiring. Dancing seemed contagious. The ballroom was crowded, and old and young were whirling about on the light fantastic toe with a zest and spirit truly inspiring. Old gentlemen with bald heads seemed to have forgotten their age and infirmities, and whirled the blooming damsels around in the dizzy mazes of the waltz as dexterously as the youngest; and young gentlemen hopped about quite frantic with joy, and altogether bewildered with the beauty of their partners. It was really a pretty sight. Rarely had I seen so many pleasant faces of both sexes, especially those of the ladies. Good-humor, simplicity, and frankness were their predominant traits. All ceremony seemed to be cast aside, and every body participated in the dance as if it were one great family frolic. The formality of introduction was dispensed with, or probably most of the guests were already acquainted. The fiddlers scraped louder and louder; wilder and faster blew the horns, and on went the dance with increasing vigor. I was getting excited – the spirit of the thing was contagious. Though not much of a dancer, yet I had occasionally in my life filled a place in a reel or a cotillon. Waltzing, to be sure, was a little beyond my experience, but I had a general idea of the figure, and could not perceive that there was any thing very difficult about it. Most of the waltzers here whirled around with great ease, and I could see no reason why it would not be entirely practicable for an active man like myself, who thought nothing of climbing high mountains or jumping across small rivers, to do the same. Besides, these people were strangers; it would be a good opportunity to try my skill. Doubtless, any of the young ladies would oblige me if I asked them to dance. They seemed to oblige every body that asked them, and showed no signs of fatigue. Indeed, they looked fresher and more vigorous after every bout. I was particularly charmed with the appearance of one young lady. Her complexion was florid, and her figure absolutely magnificent. At a rough guess she must have weighed a hundred and eighty pounds. Every time she whirled past me I could feel the floor give way. Her partner was rather small, and revolved around her like a planet round the sun. When she laughed, which was nearly all the time, her beautiful mouth opened at least two thirds of the way across her face, revealing a set of teeth to which flakes of snow, pearls, or any thing of that kind could bear no comparison. The extraordinary vigor of this girl, her tremendous powers of endurance, her weight, beauty, and good-humor, rendered her a general favorite. She was, in fact, the belle of the room. To dance with her would be an honorable distinction. Now I am naturally a modest man, but of late years that defect has been gradually disappearing from my character. I resolved to dance with this girl – if she would consent. As soon as there was a pause, therefore, I made bold to go up to her, and, with a very polite bow, solicited her hand – in English. She didn’t understand English, but she understood dancing, and answered me very politely in Swedish, “Ja!” I think my dress and manner, together with my ignorance of the Swedish language, had rather a favorable effect. She certainly looked complimented and gratified. I saw her turn round her head as we stood up, and laugh at the other girls, which I interpreted to mean that she, of all in the room, had succeeded in catching the distinguished stranger. Well, the music started – it was a German waltz. I stood holding on to my partner as the ivy clings to the solid oak. Never did I feel so firm a girl. Had she been formed of lead she could not have felt more substantial. Now, thought I, away we’ll spin over the floor, a living duet, altogether accidental, but beautiful to behold —
“Like the sweet tunes that wandering meet,
And so harmoniously they run,
The hearer dreams they are but one.”
There was only one consideration that gave me any particular anxiety. Being of a light and slender figure, I had some apprehensions that in the giddy whirl of the waltz this powerful young lady might accidentally throw me out of balance and create an unpleasant scene. However, there was no time for reflection. At a given signal, away she started with tremendous energy. I did my best to whirl her round, and don’t think it would be possible for any body to do any better under the circumstances; but she didn’t keep time – or I didn’t. Round and round the room we flew, to the inspiring strains of the music, with an undulating motion very difficult to conceive, and still more difficult to execute without danger to the other dancers. The warm blood rushed to my face; my head grew dizzy: the only thing I saw was that this style of waltzing must end in destruction to myself or somebody else. I was fairly lifted off my feet at every turn, and found myself absolutely hanging on to my partner to keep from falling. She never relaxed in her vigorous movements one moment; but as the music increased in spirit, so did she. The room was filled with waltzers. It was impossible to be flying about in this way without hitting somebody. I knew it from the very beginning, but what could I do? The first man down was an old gentleman. I begged his pardon, and helped him up again. Next I was dashed against a young lady. She and her partner both went down. I helped them up, and begged pardon again, which was granted with great good-humor. After that, most of the waltzers began to get out of the way, so that we presently had a more enlarged scope of operations. I fancy there was something uncommon in my style of waltzing that attracted attention. It was not long before we had the entire circle to ourselves, the crowd standing around and manifesting the most intense appreciation of our efforts. All went on very well for a while. Up and down the room, and round and round we whirled, and at every whirl there was a murmur of admiration and applause. My beautiful partner shook her sides as if convulsed with an earthquake – I could feel the motion, but was unable to conjecture the cause. Possibly she was getting agitated – or it might be that sentiments of tenderness were stealing over her heart. That idea, or something else, confused me. I struck out one foot a little awkwardly. She tripped against it, whirled me half round in attempting to gain her balance, and then we fell. It was very awkward. What rendered it still more unpleasant, every body began to laugh. People always do laugh at the misfortunes of others. I would have picked the young lady up at once, or at least tried it (for she was rather heavy), but the fact is, I fell underneath, and was utterly unable to move. Had I been pinned and riveted to the floor, I could not have been in a more helpless position. A man whose natural instincts are polite is surely a subject of sympathy and commiseration under such a pressure of difficulties as this. I breathed hard, but was unable to get out a single word of apology, till, with, a laugh and a bound, my fair partner regained her feet, and then she very good-naturedly assisted me in regaining mine. Mortified beyond measure, I conducted her to a seat. As I was passing out of the room soon after, a new waltz struck up. The dancers went at it again as lively as ever. I turned to see what had become of my partner. She was whirling over the floor with undiminished energy in the arms of a young gentleman in military uniform. He may have been more accustomed to waltzing than I was, but I think any person present – not excepting the young lady herself – would have been willing to admit that his style did not compare with mine in force and individuality. It certainly produced no such effect upon the audience.
I walked back to town a sober and thoughtful man. This dancing business is a very foolish pastime. It may do very well for giddy and thoughtless young persons, but for men of mature years it is the height of folly. I am surprised that they should be led aside from their customary propriety by the fascinations of beauty.
The sun was just setting. Its last rays rested upon the ruined walls of the Observatory. I followed a crowd of citizens who were slowly toiling up the stone steps, and, after a pretty hard climb, was rewarded with a magnificent view of the city and surrounding country. The rocky pinnacle upon which the Observatory stands rises some three hundred feet above the banks of the river, and overlooks a large portion of the valley of the Aurajoki. The winding waters of the river; the green fields; patches of woodland, villas, and gardens; the blue mountains in the distance, and the silent city lying like a mouldering corpse beneath, presented a scene singularly picturesque and impressive. I sat down upon the ruined walls and thought of Abo in its glory – the ancient head-quarters of Christianity in Finland; the last abiding-place of the beautiful Caroline Morsson, the peasant queen of Sweden, wife of Eric XII., who died here, and whose remains lie in the Cathedral – the city of the mighty hosts of warlike Finns who fought under the banner of Charles XII., and made a funeral pyre of their bodies upon the bloody field of Puttara. The present Finns are of this heroic race. Not less brave, yet less fortunate than the Spartans of Thermopylæ, they have lost their country and their freedom, and now groan under the oppression of a despotic government.
While thus musing on the past, a strain of delicious music broke the stillness. I rambled over the granite cliffs in the direction of the sound, and soon came to a grove of trees, with an open space in the middle, occupied by a band of musicians, who were surrounded by a group of citizens, thus pleasantly passing the summer evening. Booths and tents were scattered about in every direction, in which cakes and refreshments were to be had; and gay parties of young people were seated on long planks so arranged as to make a kind of spring seats, upon which they bounced up and down to the time of the music. Children were playing upon the grass, their merry shouts of laughter mingling pleasantly with the national air performed by the band. On the moss-covered rocks sat groups of young ladies, guarded by their amiable mothers or discreet duennas, as the case might be, trying hard not to see any of the young gentlemen who lounged about in the same vicinity; and young gentlemen prowled about puffing cigars as if they didn’t care a straw whether the young ladies looked at them or not – both being, of course, according to the established usages of society, natural enemies of each other. For the life of me, I can’t tell why it is that young ladies and gentlemen should be thus everlastingly at war. Would it not be better to kiss and make it up, and try, if possible, to get along peaceably through the world?
But the steamer blows her whistle – the bell rings – I must hurry on board. Good-by, dear Finns, big and little, I like you all. God bless you! Good-by old Abo, with your ancient church, and your moss-grown streets, and deserts of houses – I feel sorry for you, but I can’t help it! Good-by, Russia! If I don’t call again, attribute it to no want of interest in the great cause of civilization. Just drop me a line and let me know when the serfs are free and a constitutional government is established, and I will strain a point to pay my respects to Alexander II. I rather like the young man, and have an idea that he is capable of noble deeds and heroic sacrifices. But he must abolish his secret police, punish them for whipping women, open universities upon a liberal basis, throw the camarilla and the aristocracy overboard, quit murdering the poor Poles at Warsaw, and do several other things before he can have my support. Should he accomplish these beneficial reforms, and at any future time think proper to settle in my neighborhood, where the climate is more genial, I shall cheerfully vote for him as mayor of the city of Oakland.